


Sacrificial

by orphan_account



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Dissociation, M/M, Other, Tentacle Rape, That's basically the whole deal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 23:36:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11092278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Prompt: "Characters who should be stuffed with tentacles?" "Csevet, to protect Maia." Exactly what it says on the tin.





	Sacrificial

**Author's Note:**

> Because Csevet, somehow, has not gotten the TGE treatment yet. Don't worry about the background logic, you're not here for that.
> 
> Prompted by FFA: http://fail-fandomanon.dreamwidth.org/260248.html?thread=1461307800#cmt1461307800
> 
> Immediately orphaning this for obvious reasons.

“It’’s not working,” the Emperor said, oddly calm.

Cala glanced back, one hand full of fire that gleamed off his spectacles. “No, Serenity,” he agreed, throwing the fireball at the heart of the thing. Like the countless missiles before it, there was no reaction.

“We’re almost - _dammit!”_ Beshelar jerked back. He had paused for breath, and the - tentacles? - that he had taken his sword to rushed back in until the door of the chamber was entirely obscured.

“So what do we do now?” the Emperor asked. He and Csevet were back-to-back, between the nohecharei. Csevet’s heart pounded in his ears. His eyes didn’t deceive him - the thing was sending creepers toward them. Not the door - the four of them.

_Oh, gods._

“We have an idea, Serenity,” he murmured. “You’re not going to like it.”

He felt more than heard Edrehasivar’s intake of breath. “An it permits the four of us to leave with our lives, we will find it in us to approve.”

“That’s… the part you won’t like.” He spoke quickly, eyes always on those tentative, curious creepers. “We distract it. Get its attention. It stops defending the door. You three escape.” And, a heartbeat too late to sound like the same thought. “We follow.”

“No!” Edrehasivar’s hand closed tight, almost crushing around Csevet’s wrist. “Absolutely not. We forbid it.”

“Serenity, there’s no other _way_.”

“Cala can-”

Cala threw another missile and the motion took him to one knee, gasping. “Cala cannot. Lady above, I cannot.” He put a hand to his chest. “Nothing’s _working_ , curse it, it’s like the power just vanishes-”

“And the more I cut, the more it grows,” Beshelar added, retreating a pace towards the Emperor and Csevet. He glared sidelong at them both. “We’ll do it. Be the distraction.”

“No, his Serenity will need you - both of you - to get away from here,” Csevet said. “Just leave us a weapon. Once you’re out, we’ll strike the thing in the heart.”

“No one is leaving anyone!” the Emperor snapped. He turned, gripping Csevet’s shoulders. “I _forbid it,_ Csevet. We leave together or not at all.”

Csevet could weep, and averted his eyes from Edrehasivar’s face. He looked at Beshelar, who seemed carved from stone. He looked at Cala, drawn and pale, drained from this fight. He swallowed. “You two, get him out. Swear you’ll get him out.”

“We will,” said Beshelar, and Cala nodded, looking sick. “We swear.”

“Csevet,” and he had to turn back. Had to look at Edrehasivar - _Maia_ \- one last time. Gods, he was weeping. “Don’t do this,” he whispered.

“Just don’t look back. Whatever happens, whatever you hear, promise - _promise me_ you won’t look back.”

“Csevet-”

 _“Promise me!”_ And now his voice broke, but he was past caring. He needed to hear this.

Edrehasivar swallowed hard. “I promise.”

“Thank you.” And then, a lie. “I’ll follow as soon as I can.” But he had to at least pretend it. And if this was his last chance - he gripped Edrehasivar’s - _Maia’s!_ \- hands against his shoulders and leaned in. Pressed a first-last kiss to a soft, cloud-gray cheek.

Then he pushed Edrehasivar away, as firmly as he could manage, and Cala caught him and turned him around. Beshelar hissed his disapproval between his teeth, then drew a knife from a sheath at his back and offered it hilt-first. “We hope you know what you’re doing.”

Csevet took the blade with numb fingers. “Just get him out of here.” He had no notion whether he’d get to use it, but it was worth a try. And he could always use it on himself, once the others were out. He looked up and realized that, somehow, the Lieutenant knew exactly what he was thinking.

But he didn’t stop him. Just raised his sword in salute and said “Good luck, Mer Aisava.”

Csevet nodded in return. No time for any more. The noise, the horrible wet shifting was growing faster, and perhaps the thing would not wait much longer before it just reached out and took someone. And he could not risk another moment. He turned and fled _into_ the sound, still light on his feet though it felt like a lifetime since his courier days, and flung himself into the heart of the mass.

It caught him almost gently, like a parent, like a _lover_ , and he shuddered. He held the knife backwards in his hand, so the blade lay across his forearm - the thing didn’t seem to notice as it wound about his wrists, his legs, his throat. Not to restrain, he realized as bile rose in his throat, they did not tighten against his careful movement. Indeed they seemed almost to - _caress_.

He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. He would not cry out, though the touch was obscene, his body shied away from it. _Must not scream. Not make a sound. He’ll hear. Wilt not scream, courier-boy, secretary-boy. Wilt not, wilt_ **_not_ ** _-_

But the decision was taken from him. The - appendage - about his neck had made a full circuit and was close to a second, and the tip prodded curiously at his sealed lips. He jerked his head back and everything _tightened_ , too much, blood pulsed in his ears and throbbed in his hands, his feet - he relaxed and so did the thing, and the prodding came again. He let his lips open and it immediately pressed in, forced his jaws apart. But he knew how to bear this, didn’t he, how to open his throat and breathe through his nose, to focus on something else, anything else. His hands, the left with nails biting into his palm, the right clenched around the hilt of the knife. As long as he didn’t pull away from the thing it didn’t seem to mind his tensing, far more intrigued in sliding that horrible moving mass down his throat. It tasted of nothing, not even of sweat, and he supposed that was a small blessing.

And immediately regretted even the thought, for there were more curious touches, under his collar, under his shirt, his waistband. He flinched away and the restraints tightened once more, just a heartbeat of warning, then subsided as he did. He could feel the tears prick at his eyes. The tearing came as a surprise, a sharp sound as the fabric gave way, and his eyes flew open to glance back.

Edrehasivar was still turned away, Cala’s arm across his shoulders. He was shuddering violently. Beshelar guarded both their backs, sword high, but his eyes were not on Csevet. They were on the tentacles barring their way, which had begun to inch back toward the heart of the thing.

 _It’s working!_ The tears streamed down Csevet’s cheeks. _Gods and goddesses all bless, but it’s working! Salezheio - Cstheio - anyone, anyone who would listen to such a prayer, please - give me strength, help me hold out. I won’t need it for long, please -_ He turned his eyes to the heavens and prayed with all his heart as the thing tore at his trousers, his underthings. It sensed, somehow, that the true treat was within. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered, so long as the thing’s attention was on him. _Yes, come to me,_ he thought fiercely _. Be with me. Nevermind the door, the ones before it. I’m what thou want’st, what thou need’st. And when thy attention is all on me -_

It helped, it really did, to think of other things as one appendage wound about his cock. It did not help at all as another pressed in from behind. The tears came again, and he was ashamed to hear himself cry out around the mass in his throat. Across the room Edrehasivar jumped and made to turn, and Cala moved to stand bodily between the Emperor and his secretary, his sacrifice.

Csevet watched with watery, uncomprehending eyes. The appendage pressing into him was slick as it seemed the whole thing was, but it was wide, and it had been months since he’d last had a lover take him so. And this was no lover, it did not wait, did not pause, but pressed in and in and grew wider every inch until he was sure it would tear him apart. He wondered, half-mad, if it would meet the one at his throat - and then it stopped, and pulled away. He forgot the plan, forgot the prayers, forgot everything but the _wrongness_ of what was happening to his body. _Please, let it be done, let it let me go_ \-  but of course he could never be so lucky. It retreated almost to the tip, then pushed back in, a bit faster this time. He sobbed against the thing in his mouth as it set a rhythm, and the entire mass rocked in time to the thrusts.

But his eyes, full of tears that would not stop, fixed on the white-clad shape that seemed so distant. _Please. Please, let him go. Let him be safe, please, gods, goddesses, anyone, please…_

The rocking grew more fervent. Csevet watched dispassionately, as if he wasn’t even in his body any longer. More things wound around his limbs, holding him steady, and they had to be coming from somewhere, didn’t they- yes, the door, he could see it now, see Beshelar reach carefully for the handle…

The last tendril slithered away. Beshelar yanked the door open, Cala shoved the Emperor through, and they were gone.

_Yes!_

Oh, he could cheer, if he could only move his body. The thing was growing frantic, tendrils moving over his face, his ears, his back, his thighs. And always, always, the rhythm behind him, inside him, growing faster, erratic…

Csevet had no idea how long he hung there, alone but for this monstrous lover, but at last it thrust into him quickly - once, twice, three times - and went still and shuddery.

_Yes, dost always please thy partner so very well, courier-whore._

His head lolled around and he saw it. The place where the tentacles joined. It was a horrid mass, fatty and trembling on the floor, as the thing’s climax rattled through it.

 _Thy hand. The knife, idiot._ His fingers, he realized, had cramped around it. The restraints were loosening now, enough that he could turn it around in his hand. Could he do it? Did he dare?

 _For Maia - for hope_ \- he gripped the hilt as tight as he could and slashed wildly in a great arc.

The thing _shrieked_.

The appendages still within him pulled out fast and without grace, and he hit the floor with a gasp of agony. _Later -_ **_move_ ** _, damn thy useless body_ \- he plunged the knife into the heart of the thing once, twice, and left it there as the whole mass of it jerked and keened its agony. And he scrambled blindly, on hands and knees, for the door.

He fainted just over the threshold.


End file.
